


Get the Job Done

by blueygreeny



Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith, Strike (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M, Swearing Cormoran
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-24
Updated: 2020-11-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:20:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27698878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueygreeny/pseuds/blueygreeny
Summary: Picking up where A Night Out ended. There's some language, cos, well, it's Cormoran...Her grudging smile was a hair's breadth away from tears. What the hell could she say? Where could she start?
Relationships: Robin Ellacott/Cormoran Strike
Comments: 16
Kudos: 52





	Get the Job Done

The Saturday after her 30th birthday Robin was on the rota to tail Miss Jones’s ex-boyfriend. The agency had managed to collect some dirt on him in the preceding weeks, but nothing that their client judged strong enough now that she was going to involve lawyers. Robin was sure that Miss Jones was eking out the brief in the hopes of finally snaring Strike, so had suggested that she attempt one more, extensive afternoon of surveillance before closing the case. She would insist they had done all that they could and Robin would not be sorry to see the back of Miss Jones.  
The afternoon started in Marylebone where Miss Jones was meeting Ex for lunch on the pretence of discussing their daughter. It was a meeting designed to give the agency a solid starting point to follow him onwards, perhaps to meet up with his dealer before a night on the town.  
Miss Jones had arrived early and claimed a window seat in the plush restaurant. Robin alternated between three spots on the road outside with a clear view of the table. A steady rain fell, carried by a growing wind that meant Robin’s nondescript black umbrella only partially did its job. At this rate she would be soaked from the thigh downwards. Settling against a post box which provided some cover and giving the impression, she hoped, of impatiently waiting for someone, Robin checked her mobile.  
_How’s it going?_ Cormoran’s text shone from the screen.  
Imperceptibly warmer, Robin tapped out a quick _OK. Watching Jones and waiting for ex to show._ Phone pocketed, she indulged for a second in thoughts of two nights previously. Of laughter, conversation, and an equilibrium-destroying kiss. She and Cormoran had strolled aimlessly for a while after leaving the restaurant, quietly talking about nothing much while her nerves hummed. Then, before she’d known exactly what was happening, Cormoran had hailed a cab, kissed her distractedly (the cabbie had threatening to go when a passenger didn't immediately get in, which earned him some choice words from Cormoran) and deposited her inside the car. Robin had spluttered indignantly she recalled, but Cormoran had simply cut across it with a ‘see you tomorrow’ before shutting the door on her. On the solitary journey back to Earl's Court, Robin's irritation that Cormoran had called time on the evening had sprouted legs and scuttled around her mind taking the golden glow off the evening.  
Shaking her head, Robin reached for the rational thought that had calmed her on Thursday evening. It wouldn't hurt to take this (she hoped it qualified for a 'this') slowly. To let them both find their feet in the altered landscape of their relationship. _It's fine_ , she thought, worrying her lip with her teeth, _better than fine._  
Her attention was pulled back to the restaurant window as ex, fifteen minutes late, strolled in and seated himself with a can-barely-give-a-fuck air that telegraphed clearly to Robin observing outside.  
Her eyes narrowed at the tableau and she fished out her camera for a quick shot. The tension escalated quickly. Ex leaned forward with a jabbing finger. There was a flash as he bared his teeth momentarily. But it was Miss Jones, sitting framed by the window with an expression that was both seething and elated who was making Robin’s lip curl. _She’s enjoying this_ , Robin thought. And she had a flash to the one time she ‘met’ Charlotte. She, similarly, had been getting a kick out of the epic row with Cormoran. Feeding off the destructive energy she seemed to specialise in creating. Parking that unwelcome train of thought for now, Robin watched the shouting match inside come to a head. Ex flung himself away from the table and exited the building. Happy to be moving again, Robin pushed off to follow at a distance, umbrella screening her from his attention.  
Ex had energy to burn. He lead Robin on a erratic trail through the surrounding streets, roughly in the direction of Oxford Street. He was talking incessantly on his phone and making other pedestrians swerve from his aggressive mannerisms.  
‘Please let him meet the dealer,’ Robin muttered to herself. ‘Soon,’ she added, wincing as her boots rubbed a tender spot on her heel. Two nights in a row celebrating her birthday in heels was catching up with her. Though the memory of her birthday dinner last night was a welcome distraction from the rain and other depressing thoughts.  
Her expanding group of London friends had gathered under Ilsa’s direction in the corner of a cosy Italian. There had been balloons and gifts and Ilsa’s none-too-subtle matchmaking.  
‘Your seat is here,’ Ilsa proclaimed, steering Robin by the shoulders to a chair, opposite one which Cormoran already occupied. He raised an eyebrow while taking a deep draught of beer.  
On different cases in and out of the office that day, Robin hadn’t seen him since the taxi. Hoping her blush would pass for the change from crisp evening air to overheated restaurant, Robin threw herself into eating, talking, laughing and mingling.  
When the evening was beginning to wind down, some of the party went to collect drinks from the bar for a birthday toast. Robin also had a suspicion that a cake was going to be unveiled and while Ilsa buzzed around, Robin excused herself for the ladies. As she was coming back to the table, she noticed Cormoran was out on the terrace area having a smoke. She slipped out to join him, grateful for a space heater taking the chill off the air. As calmly as she could, she leaned back against the patch of wall next to Cormoran.  
‘Ilsa’s in her element tonight,’ Cormoran said, blowing a stream of smoke into the sky.  
Robin glanced sideways at him and then back into their corner of the restaurant. The group still hadn’t reassembled, they had a moment or two. ‘It’s so lovely of her to organise this.’ She paused. ‘Even if she has ulterior motives as well.’  
Cormoran barked a short laugh which Robin hugged to herself. She felt brave for referring to the matchmaking. Cormoran stubbed out the cigarette in an ashtray nearby and settled his shoulder against the wall beside her. About the same level of heat was coming off his body as the space heater. Robin held herself in check, swallowed and kept her eyes on the scudding clouds above. She fancied she felt more than heard him when he next spoke.  
‘So, now you’re fully a day into your thirties, are you feeling older and wiser?’  
She took a slow breath in while she smiled and tried to gauge the flirty (wasn’t that flirty?) tone.  
‘No, but then, I wasn’t expecting to.’ Her head dipped towards him. ‘Doesn’t seem to have worked that way for you after all.’ Cormoran’s face was mostly in shadow. He was very still. Eventually, he said, ‘Think Ilsa’s rounding up the troops. But before I forget, Dave's suggested meeting for lunch next Saturday. To paraphrase heavily, he needs Dutch courage before he watches The Lion King.'  
Disappointed by the direction the conversation had taken, Robin managed ‘Of course. How could I pass up the chance to meet _the_ Dave Polworth?'  
‘Good, but for God's sake don't say anything like that to Chum. Now, time to get you back in time to be surprised.’ And his hand found the curve of her hip and lead her with gentle pressure back inside.  
Some very good cake and another drink followed. Robin felt a tingle of excitement as hugs and goodbyes were shared, including a sly ‘Anything you want to fill me in on?’ whispered by Vanessa. Robin had laughed and shook her head, bracing herself for turning to Cormoran and suggesting they walk some of the way homeward together. But Ilsa had been too busy with drinks and gathering people to have noticed her friends' shared absence and was cheerfully oblivious to how Robin was hoping to round off the evening.  
‘I'm so glad Nick drove us. We’ll give you a lift Robin, as you've got your presents to manage.’ And, having no convincing excuse ready, to Robin’s dismay for the second night she was being driven away from Cormoran who gave a wave before setting off in the opposite direction.  
Tugging the umbrella down as a gust of wind jerked it sideways, Robin allowed herself a bit of a smirk. She could picture clearly Ilsa's horror if she knew that Robin was blaming her for sabotaging any matchmaking progress. Not that she'd stepped between them on that terrace, Robin uncertainly and dismally considered. Thinking ahead to the prospect of meeting Polworth, she couldn’t help but wonder what Dave had thought of Charlotte.  
Thankfully Robin's surveillance autopilot was up to a high standard now, and she tracked Ex steadily across the centre of London. He had finished his call and seemed to be on the lookout for someone. Robin slowed her pace and lingered in the shelter of a tree on the other side of Great Portland Street.  
'Gotcha,' she murmured as a man in a hoodie joined Ex and a series of handshakes and back pats were exchanged. Something passed from hand to hand and Robin was confident that she'd caught a shot of Ex checking his purchase before the two men parted.  
Satisfied with her afternoon's work, Robin imagined delivering the final report to Miss Jones, whose face resembled Charlotte’s more and more in her mind, and showing her the door. She turned towards the office, cutting through the throngs of shoppers on Oxford Street. She would drop off the camera ready for Monday and tying up the case file. She would make a cup of tea to warm up. She would put Charlotte firmly out of her mind. The thought of seeing if Cormoran wanted to get a drink arose. Maybe better to hold off. Robin felt that her supplies of courage were dwindling.  
Robin paused at the lights to cross Charing Cross Road just as the bulk of the number 29 bus pulled to a stop directly in front of her. She took in the poster campaign that wrapped around nearly every available surface on the double decker and felt her heart lurch.  
'You've got to be kidding me,' she muttered.  
Staring down at her with bold eyes and parted lips was Ciara Porter.

* * *

It wasn’t a panic attack, Robin was quite clear about that, but it was similar to the hollowed out feeling she often experienced in the wake of one.  
The traffic lights changed a handful of times before she emerged from her own anxieties enough to cross the road. Robin was dimly aware that she’d received a message on her phone but she ignored it. She passed through the shadow of Centre Point and was about to turn up Denmark Street when she became aware of her route again. _No, not the office_ , she firmly told herself. A few paces more and she was within the railings of St Giles in the Fields. She collapsed her umbrella as the rain had eased and sat heavily on a damp bench.  
‘Get a grip,’ she scolded herself. Ciara Porter was not a part of Cormoran’s life. She hadn’t been on his radar for four years she was sure. But, in the same way that she couldn’t stop Ilsa sharing details about Cormoran and Charlotte, Robin had never been able to turn the page when she encountered the model in a magazine. She knew that Ciara had taken time out for a degree, gained a First and effortlessly picked up her modelling career. _Good for you_ , Robin said sourly to the long-gone bus.  
Ciara and Cormoran's paths might not have crossed again, but Ciara, Elin, Lorelei and, of course, Charlotte had stained Robin’s perception of Cormoran’s romantic life. They had coloured the space next to him in such intense slashes of colour that, imagining herself, her scuffed boots and run-of-the-mill looks, stepping into that gap was laughable. She might cherish her new status as best mate, she might treasure the occasions when Cormoran had looked at her as more than the temp, an assistant or work partner, but her store of them seemed scant at this moment.  
The memory of Charlotte’s amused, almost mocking tone on the phone surfaced again. The contemptuous look that would accompany it was too easy to imagine and doused her like another shower of rain.  
Where had she found the nerve to flirt and kiss Cormoran two days previously? Under the influence of champagne and his thoughtfulness, of course. Did he also feel this disparity between Robin and his previous relationships and flings? Was this the reason why when the opportunity arose last night nothing had happened? Oh god, was he going to let her down gently?  
Half an hour passed while Robin sat with her head in her hands. Then her phone began insistently buzzing in her pocket. Of course Cormoran would check in right now. She reached for it, intending to send him a message that she was still following Ex. She would push herself out of this funk and head home to bed. But the phone caught on her pocket as she pulled it out. Fumbling, it slipped from her fingers, clattered between the slats of the bench before hitting the ground with a crunch.  
‘Shit.’ Robin was on her knees, scrambling to see which dim corner it had bounced into. She heard Cormoran’s voice increasing in volume.  
‘ROBIN!’  
Finally her fingers reached the phone and she dragged it from the ground to her ear.  
‘Cormoran, I’m fine. I just dropped the sodding phone. Calm down.’  
There’s an audible whoosh of air leaving Cormoran’s body. ‘Fu-uck, Robin.’ A pause. ‘Why did you not reply to my last message? Where are you?’  
‘I’m just...’ she trails off. She doesn’t want to see him right now. He pounces on the hesitation.  
‘Where?’ His tone is firm.  
Exhausted and unable dredge up a lie, Robin's response of ‘St Giles’ churchyard,’ comes out flatly.  
‘Why are you - never mind, I was halfway out the door. Be there in a sec,’ and he hangs up. Before Robin can do more than draw a few shaky breaths, he has arrived. ‘There you are.’  
‘Yeah. Just getting some, er, fresh air. Think I have a blister too. Didn’t fancy the stairs just yet.’ She can hear how weak this sounds but it’s the best she can do. Her eyes have drifted down to her boots while he appraises her. He takes a seat on the bench too.  
‘Something on your mind?’  
The silence extended and became brittle. Robin's palms rubbed along her wet trouser knees.  
‘Y’know, someone _very_ old,’ Cormoran laid the emphasis on thick, ‘and very wise once said to me, it’s worth trying that "talking thing".’  
‘S’pose.’ But the grudging smile that accompanied this was a hair's breadth away from tears. What the hell could she say? Where could she start?  
‘All ok with your family? Did something upset you with Jones’s ex?’ A tight shake of her head in reply.  
Casting around for firm ground he said ‘You had fun, last night, didn’t you?’  
Yes, it was fun, but Robin is haunted now by a sense of completeness she had snatched. That the life she was meant to be living was belatedly fitting together piece by piece. Now everything seemed jumbled and awry. Robin took a deep breath and haltingly began to speak.  
‘I was thinking - about the other night...’ she felt his eyes boring into her. If she looked at him, she really would cry. A little cough to clear the catch in her voice and she continued. ‘I enjoyed myself but - and this doesn’t have to be awkward - I mean, it’s not like I’m your usual type so...' She forced a laugh but Cormoran only frowned more heavily.  
‘Same could be said about me,’ he countered.  
‘Yeah, well, Matthew turned out to be a prize prick, so perhaps I should be ringing the changes.’ Once it was out of her mouth Robin realised it wasn’t exactly going to help the case she was making against her will.  
‘I’m not going to argue there, but what exactly—'  
‘Do I really have to spell it out?’ She glared at him, heart sore. Cormoran’s face was taut. ‘I don’t know if this—' she flapped a hand between them ‘— is a good idea. I’m not a bloody model or a - a socialite. I’m not one of the fancy clients who paw at you. I’m not—'  
‘Has Charlotte called you?’ Cormoran asked sharply, cutting across her, ‘I swear, if she’s called you—'  
‘No! Christ, she doesn’t have to call to get in my head!’ She blurted and then, horrified, shrank back into herself and the bench. The heat in her face was surely going to sear her lips together in a bizarre evolutionary failsafe to stop her saying any more.  
She wanted desperately to hide this raw spot. Cosset this painful awareness of her inexperience away from Cormoran’s view. But realistically she knew that long ago he will have joined the dots on her long relationship with Matthew and the attack, forming a clearer picture of her and this moment than she liked.  
She stole a look at Cormoran, hastily retreating when she saw he was considering her like a crucial piece of evidence. Watchful and intent.  
Robin focussed hard on her breaths. The sound of a bus juddering to a stop nearby and music drifting briefly from a swinging door proved that life continued. Cormoran remained sitting next to her.  
‘Where exactly have you got the impression that I give a toss about any of that?’ He eventually asked.  
‘Please Cormoran,’ Robin murmured weakly, though what she was going to ask him was a mystery to her. She raised her head and shivered through a gust of wind that set some leaves dancing.  
‘I was also thinking about the other night,’ Cormoran began while Robin’s stomach pitched. _Here we go_ , she thought, _time for the let down._  
‘It was like,’ a pause, ‘like you were working a case.’ He understood the incredulous face that Robin turned on him. ‘Hear me out. It’s fair to say that at work, you know what you’re doing. You get information, you make observations, draw conclusions and you always have a clear objective in mind. You’re a natural investigator. You’re sure of yourself.’ He stretched out his legs. Robin felt the press of his thigh alongside her own. ‘On Thursday you brought along a bit of that get-the-job-done attitude. It was good. It was inspiring.’  
Robin flailed for the right questions to clarify this flattering, if slightly cryptic speech, when Cormoran continued.  
‘I was hoping I’d see you today. I’ve got something for you.’ His hand plunged into a pocket, emerging with a slightly squashed rectangular cardboard box which he placed in Robin’s upturned hand. Robin blinked. Although it’s obvious that the box definitely doesn’t contain jewellery, and why should it Robin chided herself, she can’t help a memory of Matthew and the Eros statue flashing through her mind.  
‘What's...’ Robin's chilled fingers fumbled with the lid. When she finally levered it open she went still.  
‘It’s just a few samples for now, to give you a chance for input.’  
New business cards. On crisp, white background and in a simple font are the words _Strike & Ellacott Private Investigators._ She gulped and her words had trouble leaving her mouth in an orderly fashion.  
‘This is ̶ I love it ̶ it’s —'  
‘About time.’ He said firmly. Robin looked down again into the perfect, crumpled box and then launched her arms around Cormoran's shoulders. He slid an arm around her waist.  
‘Just ignore everything I said, OK?’ Robin mumbled into his shoulder. She took a fortifying lungful of Cormoran, of smoke and musk. She doesn’t want to move, though she’s twisted awkwardly. Reluctantly she pulled away.  
‘So, what can we toast the full partner with?’ Cormoran eyed her. ‘Wine? Beer?’  
‘Tea,’ she replied emphatically.  
They rise from the bench in tandem, but Cormoran stayed standing. After a false start, Robin retraced her steps to him with a raised eyebrow.  
‘I’m going to need you to double check my proofreading on that,’ he nodded at the box cradled in Robin’s hands.  
‘Of course,’ Robin replied. Cormoran paused and she felt his eyes gauging every flicker of her face as he continued.  
‘Y’see, I got a new number.’  
‘You did?’  
‘Yeah. Overdue, I know, but time I cut any remaining links to Charlotte. For good.’  
Robin fought to control her features, to not show how much this means. Cormoran closed the distance between them and captured her hands in his. His gaze is fixed on her.  
‘It goes against the grain to state the obvious, when your observational skills are usually so good, but you are a stunning woman, Robin. You’re beautiful.’ He gives her fingers a squeeze in unconscious emphasis. ‘I’ve been more than aware of that since the day you started at the agency. And you’re brave and passionate and kind. Thankfully, I had enough sense of self-preservation to not act on any of that in the past four years.’ Robin has frozen in place but the words pour into her, radiating warmth from her chest outwards.  
‘Putting Prize Prick to one side,’ which earned him a smile, ‘where he belongs, if I had...done anything... I would have fucked it up.’  
She was absorbed by his lips but on the curse her eyes snagged on his gaze again. ‘I would have fucked it up and everything that we’ve been building would have been lost, along with my best mate.’ One of his thumbs begins to stroke a palm.  
‘I can’t say I still won’t fuck it up,’ he shrugged.  
Robin swallowed. ‘You don’t have a monopoly on messing things up, y'know. I was doing a fine job of that earlier without you,’ she said softly.  
‘So, we’re on the same page then? Attempting to steer clear of fuck ups?’  
Despite a blush, Robin's ‘Deal’ was steady. Her awareness of Cormoran’s touch and the rumble of his voice spiked further as he tucked a few strands of hair behind her ear. His fingers set light to a line of nerves stretching from her scalp, down her spine and beyond.  
‘C’mere.’ What space there was remaining between them vanished and his lips pressed to hers. Robin's heart sang. She stretched eagerly up and into him and her arms wrapped around his neck as the kiss deepened. A soft groan reached her ears but she couldn’t honestly say who it came from.  
A moment or minutes pass and then they are catching their breaths and beaming at each other.  
‘There she is.’ Cormoran said dropping another kiss on her temple, ‘There’s Get-the-Job-Done Robin.’ There was a fierce pride to the look he rested on her.  
‘Oh, I don’t know. Not sure that quite qualifies as seeing it through to a proper conclusion.’ At the sound of Cormoran’s rich laughter, the heat and light deep inside Robin flared again.  
With that the day is washed clean, scrubbed of an accumulation of grubby doubts and insecurities. Robin and Cormoran’s steps turn automatically towards Denmark Street. A woman in a sober coat with dishevelled hair, tucked under the arm of the man next to her.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, that was The Fic That Would Not Die™. The idea of Robin sitting on a bench just yards from the office, (inevitably) plagued by doubts after her birthday, came into my mind, grew and grew and thoroughly distracted me the past few weeks. And then the title I'd earmarked for it, just wouldn't fit, so Get the Job Done was directed at me and Robin eventually.  
> Hope you enjoy.


End file.
